


The End of December

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-04
Updated: 2008-08-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam isn't having a very merry Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of December

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candesgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candesgirl/gifts).



Late December was too cold for the bitter shell of Sam’s flat, without human warmth enough to insulate against the ache of Christmas.

Sam sat at his window, wearing his jacket indoors as he played at making invisible pictures on the glass with scraps of sellotape, carefully peeled from shreds of gift-wrap scattered on the floor. Annie's shape was still receding down the street, her blue raincoat melancholy bright in the dwindling afternoon, her hands empty.

He had nothing to give her at all.

  


* * *

  


Sam’s fingers played like scurrying insects over the dials of his radio, searching for sound. He could have sworn he had heard… what, exactly? A male voice, so not his mother. Couldn’t have been a doctor, not anymore, so maybe someone from work, if any of them even remembered who he was… he couldn’t remember who, besides Maya, would make the effort to speak to a dead man.

Yearning clawed at his insides as he pressed his ear to the static, almost longing for an impossible sonic touch.

He listened for hours, forgetting that even in 1973, men of the present could also speak on the radio.

  


* * *

  


‘Happy Christmas, Sammy-boy.’

‘Christmas ended forty-seven minutes ago.’

‘Aren’t you a cheery bugger?’ Gene kicked the door shut and drew off his gloves. ‘Well, you gonna give us a drink, then?’

Sam gestured mutely at the empty bottle on the floor, went back to staring at the dead television screen.

‘Right. Guess I should’ve got you a nice bottle of summat instead. But seein’ as it’s a bit late for that…’

A small, badly-wrapped box landed in Sam’s lap. He winced. ‘Haven’t got anything for you,’ he mumbled, feeling an embarrassed heat creeping up his neck while he tried to pick up the parcel with the bare minimum of touch.

‘You might.’ Gene’s lighter was rasping and clicking unevenly in Sam’s ear, struggling to put flame to cigarette.

Sighing wearily, Sam picked at the loose edges of the gift-wrap, unfolding a ridiculous number of sloppy, wrinkled layers of paper, far too much of it for something so small. Finally, with one last unfurled fold, an old matchbox dropped into Sam’s hand. The cardboard was battered, the striking side of the lid well used.

He stared, from the tired old box to Gene, hovering above him, still fumbling with his lighter. ‘I suppose you’d like to borrow one of these?’ he asked dryly.

Gene flushed, and threw both cigarette and lighter aside. ‘Jus’ open the damn thing, would you?’

Sam opened the damn thing.

‘See, I don’t ‘ave the box for it, an’ that was the only thing I could find…’

His heart stopped.

‘An’, well, I understand if you don’t want it, so don’t go thinkin’ you ‘ave to just because… Or else, I’d buy you a new one, of course, I mean, that’s really what I meant, but it was one of them spur-of-the-moment jobs… not that I ‘aven’t thought about it long an’ ‘ard, but it was jus’ today, being stuck with the Missus and her harpy of a mother when all I could think about was you ‘oled up in this dump on yer own, an’ I really would ‘ave come much sooner, but it was a bit of a mess, really, smashed ‘alf the wedding china we were rowing that bad, an’ then I ‘ad to figure out where I’d gone and left the damn thing, ‘aven’t worn it in years but then-‘

Sam cut him off wordlessly, a trembling hand threaded tight into Gene’s hair as he surged upward into a fierce kiss, tongue delving quick into Gene’s open mouth. Strong arms slid around him, squeezed Sam almost painfully hard, making him moan softly into their kiss, his other hand clenching tighter still around Gene’s wedding ring.

They parted in small measures, light brushes of lips drawing out the moment before Gene tipped his head back, scrutinizing Sam with guarded green eyes. ‘So,’ he said, shrugging an awkward shoulder. ‘Do you have anything for me, then?’

‘Yeah.’ Sam grinned widely, pressed himself into the shape of Gene’s embrace. ‘Yeah, I do.’


End file.
